


A Bird In The Hand

by LuckyDiceKirby



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, FatT Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyDiceKirby/pseuds/LuckyDiceKirby
Summary: At Samol’s house, Hella teaches Adaire how to use her sword.





	A Bird In The Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is set between WiH 26 and WiH 28. I started writing it, uh, over a year ago? Better late than never? 
> 
> For the prompt sword / hand for FatT Femslash Week.

"Adaire." Hella's hand is heavy on Adaire's shoulder. She would shrug it off, but it's a comfortable weight. And after the disaster of the fight they had a few nights ago, Adaire's shoulder is pretty much the only part of her that doesn't hurt. 

"What?" Adaire tips her head back to look up at Hella upside down. She's got a cut along one cheekbone that Adaire cleaned up for her, so it’s healing up nicely. She also has the same pinched expression on her face that she's had for a few days, but Adaire can't really blame her for that. Adaire would be mad too if Hadrian tried to break any of her shit. And the sword is...well. The sword sure is something. "Don't tell me it's time for another story."

That makes Hella crack a smile. "I think we're off the hook for now," she says. "I was wondering if you wanted some sword lessons."

That is not what Adaire was expecting. She sits up and turns around. "What?"

Hella reaches a hand out towards Adaire's face and then falters. Adaire saw the bruise when she saw herself in the mirror this morning, and it is pretty spectacular--she hasn't seen that shade of purple in a long time. "You're hurt," Hella says. Only a bit of an understatement. "And if you're going to borrow my sword, in the future, I figure you should know how to use it."

"I'm not really a sword kind of girl. Think I might stick to daggers from now on."

"Come on. It's an excuse to get out of this house, at least."

Adaire can't really argue with that. And it’s an excuse to pay some extra attention to the muscles in Hella’s arms when she lifts a sword, too. So when Hella leads the way outside, she follows.

-

The moment when Adaire first picks up the sword is strange. She didn’t have much time to notice last night. It feels like it’s alive. It feels like it has something that it wants. 

Adaire would have put the thing right back down if Hella wasn’t watching her. She’s Adaire Ducarte. She isn’t afraid of a sword. Not one that’s in her own hands, at least.

So she picks up the sword, grins at Hella, and ignores everything except for the way she smiles back. “Shall we?”

Adaire would never have bet any money on it, but wonder of wonders, Hella Varal is a pretty good teacher.

She’s gruff, sure, and she isn’t shy about correcting Adaire when she does something wrong. But she gives clear instructions, and her hands are steady when she corrects Adaire’s stance. Steady and warm.

Hella runs Adaire through a series of strikes and blocks. Adaire does her best not to let the sword wobble. It didn’t seem nearly so heavy when she was fighting for her life.

“No, not like that. Like this. You need to be steady, but you have to be able to move when you need to, too. Otherwise your opponent will gut you.” Hella is solid against Adaire’s back as she makes minute shifts to the position of Adaire’s arms that she doesn’t really understand.

“I’m never going to be an expert swordswoman,” Adaire says.

“Of course not. You’re not going to master _any_ weapon with a few hours of practice. It’s about getting out alive, not showing off.”

“Like _you_ never show off.” 

Adaire can hear the grin in Hella’s voice. “When you practice for years, then you can show off.” She steps back, leaving Adaire’s back cold. “Okay. Go through the forms I showed you.”

Adaire does her best, which isn’t very good, to her estimation. If it was anyone else but Hella, she doesn’t think she could stand it. But while Hella’s good at ferreting out weaknesses, that’s not what she’s trying to do here. 

They might all die here, wherever _here_ actually is. And Hella doesn’t want that to happen. She doesn’t want that to happen to _Adaire_. So she’s doing what she can to help.

It’s always nice to be proven right. Hella’s the most useful ally Adaire could have asked for.

Eventually, Adaire pleads exhaustion, and Hella takes the sword back and starts practicing against one of the trees. 

“Won’t that dull the blade?”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “I keep a whetstone for a reason.” 

“Won’t that piss off Samol?”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. “I really don’t care.”

Hella’s good at saying things that are hard to argue with. Adaire flops down in the grass and watches. What is she supposed to do, let the opportunity go to waste? They might not make it through the next attack, when it comes. Might as well take the chance to watch Hella sweat through her shirt one last time. 

"Thank you," Hella says after a while. Adaire’s not sure how long it’s been, but the tree is sure starting to look like it lost a fight with Hella.

Adaire lifts her head. "For what?"

"For being here. This whole group's a mess, but you've been reliable. I appreciate that."

Adaire stares at her. Her stomach feels like jelly. She does the only thing she can do, and laughs. "I don't think anyone's ever called me reliable in my life."

Hella shrugs. "You have a good head on your shoulders." She lowers her sword.

Adaire stands up. She doesn’t have a plan. She’s acting on instinct, which is never a good way to do anything. “Thanks,” she says. “I don’t know if I can say the same for you. But you’ve got a good sword in your hand, at least.”

Hella laughs. “Sure. If we make it out of here, I’ll be sure to thank you.”

If, if, if. Adaire is so _tired_ of thinking in ifs. If the sun comes back, if they ever get back to the surface, if the broken pieces of what Hieron is these days can ever be put back together. Adaire deals in certainties. She works with the things she knows. It’s not about trust. It’s about being smarter than everything, everyone around her.

And if there’s one thing she knows, after all they’ve been through, it’s Hella. Nothing else makes sense. But Hella is a certainty.

"Let's run away," Adaire says, all at once. Her words are a trickle and then a tide and then a torrent, threatening to wash her away along with them. "Just the two of us. You got that tree pretty good--if you cut it down, and then another one, and maybe one more, we could make a boat. Another boat. And we can go, what, anywhere, right? There's a thousand worlds we could be in! Why should we settle for this one? This one kind of sucks. It sucks and it doesn't make sense and there's nothing we can do to fix it."

"And do what?" Hella asks. Her mouth is smiling, but her eyes are doing something much more complicated. "Go into business wherever we land?"

"Sure," Adaire says, warming to the idea. She can feel it begin to come together in her head, a hundred threads pulling tight. "A mercenary crew. Bodyguarding. Every world needs bodyguards, right? No matter how different the history is there'll still be _violence_."

"Yeah." Hella is looking down at her hand, wrapped tight around the hilt of her sword. "I'm good at that." She sheathes it. "We're not going to run away."

"Why _not_?" Adaire demands. "There's always a way out, and this is it! This isn't a solvable problem. Fucking-- _Hieron_ himself, or whoever he really is, he told us. There's nothing we can do. So let's go!"

"Running away isn't going to fix anything."

"I don't want to fix anything!" It hurts more than Adaire expected, that Hella doesn't get it at all. Adaire is used to not being understood. She thought she'd stopped hoping. "I want to save my own damn skin. It's what I'm good at." That's what her oldest sister had said. A memory faded and soft with time, like worn paper. _What are you good for, Addie, except running away?_

"And what about me?"

"What _about_ you?"

"Why take me with you?" It's a reasonable question. Everyone knows Adaire doesn’t care for dead weight. 

"You're a useful asset," Adaire says. "I'm quick, but you're tough. We'd make a good team."

"Sure," Hella says. There's a faint sheen of sweat across her brow, and her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands breaking free. She's coming closer. "But surely there are other fighters in the world who could help you."

"You're the one that's here. And we know each other. We work well together. And--"

Hella steps close enough that when she presses her hand under Adaire's chin, tipping her head up, it's a stretch. Adaire's pulse is fluttering under her palm. 

"And?" Hella asks.

Hella tastes like salt and iron when Adaire kisses her. She must have cut her lip while she was practicing, or bitten it bloody.

Adaire approaches kissing Hella using the same principles she applies to tree climbing: she throws her arms around Hella's strong neck, hooks one of her legs around Hella's hip, and holds on like her life depends on it. She trusts that Hella won't let her fall. And anyway, Adaire would be lying if she said this was the first time she'd wanted to climb Hella like a tree.

Hella braces her hands under Adaire's thighs and picks her clean up off the ground, stumbling back a little but holding Adaire steadily. She keeps walking backwards until her back hits a tree, and then she flips them around so that she can press Adaire up against it.

"Seriously. I'm flattered," Hella says, when Adaire abandons her mouth in favor of her neck, "but I'm not going to-- _shit_ \--I'm not going to run away with you."

Adaire sucks a bruise on her throat. "Am I not making a convincing enough argument?" she asks. 

Hella puts a hand on Adaire's jaw and tilts her face so that she can look her in the eyes. "I'm a sword, Adaire," she says, with the kind of seriousness only someone raised in Ordenna could manage. "I don't really get what's going on here, or what it has to do with me. I can cut a path forward, but I can't pull everything together." She smiles. "The bigger picture is really not my area." 

It feels like there might be something stuck in Adaire's throat. "What, so you think I should stay because I'm not an idiot like the rest of you?"

Hella smirks, and leans in close. "Sure," she says. "And also because I want you to."

If Hella didn't have her so well pinned to the tree--and what is Adaire _doing_ , letting herself sit here, only supported by things other than herself--then Adaire is sure she would bolt. Being needed is a cage. Being wanted is even worse. 

The tree shudders. There's an enormous cracking sound, the kind that reminds Adaire of hours spent in the forest with her siblings, chopping wood. It occurs to her, belatedly, that this is probably the same tree Hella has been practicing her sword-work on. 

It gives way with a groan, and Adaire's reflexes take over. Her hands scramble, one grabbing onto Hella's neck and the other her shirt, and she braces herself to hit the ground.

The impact never comes. When Adaire opens her eyes, Hella's face is inches from her own. Adaire's legs are tight around her hips, and Hella's got one arm around her back and the other cradling her head, bent at the waist to keep Adaire from falling. It's like they were dancing and Hella dipped her, except Adaire's feet aren't on the ground at all. 

Hella's eyes remind Adaire of the fire that used to burn constantly in the hearth of the house she grew up in, low and almost invisible in the coals. But always there. "You're always _catching_ me," Adaire says. Her voice is rough. "Put me down." Hella kisses her instead. "Mmph--seriously, put me down, if we're making out in the woods we have to _commit_ \--"

Hella does eventually put her down. The grass is scratchy against Adaire's back and there are leaves stuck in her hair. She doesn't really mind.

"Man," Adaire says, "has anyone ever told you that you have really, really nice arms?"

Hella grins. "Once or twice," she says, mouthing at Adaire's neck. "I'm open to hearing it again."

"Well, once better be enough." Adaire pushes at Hella's shoulder, only slightly regretful. "Come on. Eventually someone is going to start wondering where we are."

Dusting herself off once she stands, Hella offers Adaire a hand. It only feels a little bit like freefall when Adaire takes it, letting Hella pull her up.

"They'll probably just assume you managed to hurt yourself with the sword."

"With _your_ sword?" Adaire eyes it suspiciously. "Not anytime soon."

Hella shrugs, picking the sword up again where it had fallen among the leaves, hooking its sheath into her belt. "It's probably time for dinner by now."

"Great," Adaire says. Hella’s right. They’ve been out here for hours. And it looks like Adaire’s not going to run away this time. She wonders if this is how a fish feels when it’s caught in a net. "That means we get to hear another story that's going to make Hadrian pull those stupid faces again."

"Hey," Hella says, bumping against her shoulder. "At least now you know how to defend yourself."

Looking up at Hella, her face warm and open, Adaire's own gut twisting itself into knots, Adaire isn't so sure that she does.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on Twitter at luckydicekirby!


End file.
